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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745024">Ephemerality</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadfulStar/pseuds/DreadfulStar'>DreadfulStar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Near Death, Out of Body Experiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:55:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745024</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadfulStar/pseuds/DreadfulStar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The plan was simple enough. After refusing to teleport with Yennefer, Geralt needed to meet up with Jaskier, wait on Yennefer, then go to Ciri’s event. The first step proved successful. </p><p>Unfortunately, while in the town, a fight with a monster leaves Geralt in a complicated situation. After waking, he cannot get anyone to acknowledge him, as if no one could see or hear him, leaving him confused and afraid ... that is, until he notices his own living body laying there on the ground.</p><p>(School work hiatus)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sky quivered for a moment before the rain began to trickle then pour down on everything within sight. Leaves bright green with spring dipped heavy with the water flowing through the trees. The already damp paths began to readily fill with rainwater, overflowing the well-worn ruts and horse hoofprints. A pair continued down the path, eagerly drawing closer to the small, sleepy village that the planned route ran through. The village served as a planned stopping point to rest in and restock before heading out once again in order to make it in time for a celebratory feast they’d been begrudgingly invited to. The location would allow a few to meet up before traveling onward together. The pair, one a chestnut mare with a dirtied white blaze and the other a tall, well-built man with pale silvery white hair pulled into a low ponytail, powered forth as lightning began to join the sky above. </p><p>
  <span>The horse whinnied at a lightning strike and batted her eyes before swinging her head into her witcher companion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are almost there, Roach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted and stomped a hoof into the mud. He gently tugged on her reins and took a slight lead ahead of her in order to encourage her onwards. Like promised, the pair meandered into the town within minutes. Geralt scanned over the town layout, somewhat basic on a grid with the tavern inn and other shops in the center and speckled bunches of small houses spanning the outer edges. A long, well packed cobblestone path merged the lots. The farther end to the right before the housing area boasted tall, permanent installation stalls for a marketspace. Many were boarded up or tied down in preparation for the storms. He headed towards the tavern as planned, noting the stables built along the left side for visiting patrons with horses. This was as expected, hence another reason the town was ideal for stopping. He’d been offered a faster route had he teleported with Yennefer to get there sooner with time to spare, but he denied the request. His excuse had been that there were tasks to do near the route anyway, so why bounce back and forth. The truth was he would rather walk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better get inside,” Geralt spoke to the mare, knowing well she cared little for his opinion. She flicked the rain from her face and shook her ears. “You’ll get a nice stay in the stables, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked, squinting from the running water down her face, and snorted at him. He entertained a small grin at her responsiveness. When approaching, he did as standard for stabling a horse at a tavern. A stablehand waved him on after taking his dues. Geralt nodded curtly and headed inside, glad for the luxury of being inside for a storm as opposed to on the trail for a contract or travel. He brushed back his long, ghostly hair and wrung the water out roughly. The water dripping from his face could do not much worse to his already soaked garments and muddy boots. The entranceway to the tavern had a mushy layer of mud, grime, and gravel grit, but elsewhere was nearly pristine. He couldn’t help but raise a brow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ay,” a young woman around the age of twenty to twenty-five put out her hand, bravely, in front of Geralt. He halted and looked at her. She wore a simple green and clean-white skirt. A dark, foresty viridian apron was tied to the front of her ruffled, matching simple green blouse and hung low nearly to the end of her bouyant petticoat. The last thing Geralt saw, considering he started from the bottom upwards, was her face. She frowned sternly at him with cool hazel eyes, blazingly accented by the green wardrobe. Her auburn hair was tied back petitely. With brazen audacity to face a witcher with such intensity, she continued to scowl her thin face before pointing down to his mud-covered boots. “Rinse them off with the rag in that bucket there to your left and take them off. No footwear for men inside my tavern on rainy or muddy days, okay? You may carry them or leave them here by the door like the rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt blinked before slowly looking over. There indeed were multiple pairs of boots and such along the front wall, small puddles underneath them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-” Geralt began before looking around. The tavern was well-kept and almost artsy with the way the curtains and wood panels were detailed. He hesitated before continuing. “Such strict policies here. What if my belongings are to be stolen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman torted back, “Should watch for a man carrying two pairs of boots, unless he wears one of them, then he’ll be carrying one pair of boots. If you are so inclined, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> you may carry them with you. One uptight fellow today seemed overly concerned about the effort and I gave in and let him set them behind the bar while he ate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt mused, “He did, you say? Is this fellow still here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yeah. He’s setting up a room. Took his shoes, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was he a tad flowery in his language, walk with the gait of a young woman in love, and fawn over every pretty face if not his own reflection? Perhaps carrying an instrument you would consider smashing over his head if he persisted to annoy you over his footwear?” Geralt asked as he leaned against the doorframe to unlace his tight, leather boots. He didn’t dare squat or sit to work on them. He had enough balance undoubtedly to do something as simple as remove his shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman flicked her hand and pointed eagerly, “Ay, you know him! That’s him. Are you here looking for him? He doesn’t have a warrant or contract on his head, does he? You look the fellow to take someone like him down easily. A doppler? Werewolf?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt shook his head, paused, then shrugged, “Nothing of the sort this time. I daresay the man I’m talking about is a longtime acquaintance. We are meeting up in order to attend an event. Another of our circle should be arriving soon once finished with her own dealings.” He grabbed the rag and swished away the mud the best he could in the dark, grungy water. “May you point me in his direction?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not until after you towel yourself dry the best you can,” she handed him a towel fit to wrap a small child up in. She certainly took her job seriously. A small pile of neatly folded towels lay next to the large bin of soiled towels behind her. Some towels seemed sewn of rags and spare cloth, but still a worthy pile at her expense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took it and obliged. “I must admit your tavern here is rather serious about cleanliness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took the wet towel away and placed it in the large bin, “Eh, we try to keep a respectable reputation. Therefore, we get both kinds of travellers: worse for the wear and those with a pretty wallet. Besides, it upsets the man of the house to have too much resting water around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt nodded, making note of it. He eyed her over before glancing away, “Is he your husband?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted before laughing and clicking her tongue, “How funny! Right, right. You can head on up. Second room. If you can read, it’s the one with the big two on it. I’ll tell the bookkeep to edit the pretty boy's charge for two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt only raised an eyebrow once more at her initial response before carrying his boots towards the staircase fancily scripted </span>
  <em>
    <span>Inn Upstairs</span>
  </em>
  <span> along the railing. He appreciated the small details, not that the likely illiterate crowd around him did as well. With a lingering pang of vexation, whether she was indeed married or not remained unclear. The concept seemed to be a humorous one to her though in the least. Considering the size of the village, perhaps it was an inside joke he was out of the loop for by being an outsider. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stairs creaked under Geralt’s weight. He tried to shift his weight to be quieter, but he ultimately judged the situation to be nonperitive for stealth. Habits simply die hard. Without his boots on, he readily noticed how quieter it was already. His boots were never necessarily loud nor did he romp about lead footed. For his career, he needed to be ready to be stealthy in the field and while he could purchase and carry multiple forms of footwear, it wasn’t something he could justify. Yet, one could not deny that the softer padding of a foot and stocking on floorboards were quieter than a hardened leather sole of a boot. He continued to watch his surrounding, admiring and critiquing the choice of ornate decoration for a local tavern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flick of a black furry tail caught Geralt’s eye when he reached the top of the stairs. It quickly disappeared into a nook in the dimly lit hallway. He paused, trying to gauge where the creature went. The hallway was lined with about ten doors, only one of which was open. The open door stood out for both the reason of being unalike the others and for having painted two on the outer wood. Focusing, Geralt could slightly sense a source of body heat near the floor, having recently passed by the open door. Logically, he suspected, the owner of the black tail had just walked into the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt gently walked up to the door, approaching from the side the door was jointed to the wall. He first surveyed the floor, searching from his conveniently hidden location for what he suspected was a stray pestilential animal, something he figured Jaskier would not appreciate trampling about his belongings. For a stormy rainy day like the present, he could easily understand why an animal would do its best to sneak in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spotted Jaskier’s shadow sweep across the floor, to which Geralt momentarily stiffened and listened in on him. Jaskier seemed blissfully unaware of Geralt’s presence at the door. The bard passively hummed to himself, folding up a few articles of clothing on the countertop provided. He sang to himself, partially narrating himself with short, jaunty diddy once in a while. Geralt smirked while watching him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, Geralt gently pushed the door open. The door swung open further, nearly halfway now. Jaskier had his back to the door and didn’t even bother to look back. Taking a moment before continuing, Geralt pushed the door open further. Jaskier happily danced in the room, spinning on one foot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, no recognition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt stepped full frame into the doorway. Normally, he’d not draw introducing himself, but there was a growing amusement in Jaskier’s distracted vulnerability and imperception. Had he wished to harm the bard, this would be an opportune time to strike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier fluffed his hair and did a tiny swirl before returning to his travel pack where it lay open next to his lute case. Geralt focused in with his senses, listening to the bard’s slightly audible heartbeat. Normally, someone wouldn’t be able to hear someone’s heart, let alone from ten feet away, but thanks to his inherent witcher mutations, Geralt could. It carried a strong, steady rhythm almost in beat to the humming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A heat signature struck his attention from the side. He heard a fluttering, faster heart beat approaching him swiftly. Geralt glanced down and met the eyes of an all black cat with dark golden-green eyes with one eclipsed with a dark hazel patch. The heterochromia-eyed cat opened its mouth, barred its white teeth, and hissed with a passion once gazing into Geralt’s eerie yellow cat-eyes. Geralt remained unflinched by the feline’s reaction, but Jaskier was less than graceful, taken by surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s heartbeat accelerated, reaching quickly up to racing pace. The younger man whipped his head around, flailing out his arms, and tripping over his own feet before colliding into the counter. The cat’s fur stood on end, tail fluffed up. The black cat leapt over Geralt’s feet and bolted out into the hallway. Jaskier shook, gripping his arm where it struck the counter, and grimaced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-how long were you there!” Jaskier spoke up as he picked himself off the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long enough,” Geralt responded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long enough, </span>
  <em>
    <span>long enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Jaskier whined, elaborating his syllables, “You scared me. You made me fall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt scoffed, “I did not </span>
  <em>
    <span>make</span>
  </em>
  <span> you fall. You fell because the cat hissed at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why did it hiss at you? Because you were in my doorway lurking!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt shrugged, “Arguably, no, it hissed because cats hate witchers because they were destined to be one in another life. That, or that cats absorb and hoard magic in a way we still are unsure of and so they can tell my ambient magic is unnatural.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier threw his hands up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or cats don’t like my eyes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier pointed at him, “That all still comes back to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt stepped into the room and set his boots down by the door, “The woman at the door directed me up this way. I hadn’t expected you to leave your door open carelessly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She directed you this way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked her to,” he replied bluntly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you get a room yourself?” Jaskier asked. Geralt didn’t answer, but instead only looked at him then at the room. “Oh, are we sharing the room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheaper, isn’t it?” Geralt said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you tell her why we are meeting up here?” Geralt only raised an eyebrow slightly, waiting for Jaskier to continue his journey of thought. “Agh, so she sent you my way, sharing a room, and didn’t question it? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she’s going to think we are together!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt harrumphed, “We are together on our way to Ciri’s event.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Together</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like lovers, you gorgeous, daft fool!” Jaskier lamented and gripped at his fluffy bangs that bounced upwards, “What if that attracts hate or… even worse, I had full intentions to flirt with her and maybe, you know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt sloughed off his own gear onto the space by his boots, “She already thinks you were not the type to fancy women based on her description of you, perhaps mine of you as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier choked and sputtered trying to start his next thought, “Yet, she sent </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>my way. Then what does that say about you, well now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt paused, closed the door, and squinted harshly at Jaskier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry to question your heartily set-in-stone orientation, jeez. My lord, don’t frown that much or you’ll get wrinkles on that lovely face of yours,” Jaskier flicked his hand at Geralt, mouth uneasily twitching with a wave of anxiety. He held his hand in place for a second, waiting. When he got no further reply, he swallowed and moved on. Clearing the air of the tension was not going well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is late,” Geralt interrupted the silence. <br/></span>
  <span><br/>“Yes, that was an realization of my own when I looked out the little window a second ago. You are fantastically observant, oh majestic witcher,” Jaskier smiled playfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt tensed his jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a soft whisper, Jaskier spoke up, “Please don’t kill me in my sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To that, Geralt slightly smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun shone through the small window adjacent to the bed. Geralt heard his spine crackle softly as he shifted on the floor. There had only been one bed, so he had acquiesced and let Jaskier claim it. The other man was daintily fragile after all. A night on the floor with wool blankets for padding was significantly more tolerable to the witcher than the bard. Despite the floor being tolerable, it didn’t make it comfortable. His elbow ached from the hardwood and his midthigh felt tight from discomfort. Old injuries easily flared up from it. </p><p>Regardless, he politely laid there. Jaskier appeared to remain asleep. He happily slept there on the bed, softly breathing. Geralt could hear him breathe and had to appreciate how quiet and almost unnoticeable it was. Singing made the bard’s lungs strong, making his breathing gentle and confident. The majority of sound came from outside the window or from the occasional shift in the bed. </p><p>Gauging from the way the light fell across the room, Geralt guessed it was around 7:00am, give or take an hour. He heard the sound of sweeping outside the door. The rhythmic drag of the straw broom across the floor almost made Geralt let himself fall back asleep, but he knew better than to fall into poor habits like sleeping in. </p><p>He stretched, feeling a few joints pop once more. It always made him feel so old to hear his body crackle like loose floorboards in the morning, but he couldn’t deny he wasn’t rough on his body to begin with. The occupation didn’t exactly make for a well-kept, undamaged body. One of these days, something was going to do him in. Hopefully it would be a monster that did the final blow so he could die a gallant death rather than some other misfortune by age. Witcher’s weren’t immortal, afterall. After he finally reached well into his one hundred, something ought to finally give up the ghost. He had time to go before then, but it was still something he couldn’t help but wonder. If anything, hopefully it would be a natural, if you could call it natural, cause. A monster or beast may have been unnatural, but at least it wouldn’t be his doing. An unnaturally old age failure would also be quote-unquote natural, he supposed. What if monsters became hard to find? What if he ran out of contracts? What life would there be to live after that? Would he… It was a worthless debate.</p><p>The witcher sighed. It was far too early into the day to ponder his inevitable demise. </p><p>Jaskier yawned softly but then shoved his face deeper into the duck and goose down feather pillow. Geralt looked in the direction of the bed before quietly getting up. Time to get ready. He figured he could get something to drink, stock up his wares, and meander a bit before preparing to set out once more. Jaskier got to sleep in. No need to bother the Oxenfurt graduate. The bard had better things to do, like write songs in his dreams so he could annoy Geralt with them the following day or flaunt them at the market hoping for tips. </p><p>Market. Geralt remembered seeing the various tents set up when arriving earlier. He figured the market square would soon open up. Farmers and artisans tended to sell off wares beginning around 8:00am or 9:00am. They tended to fizzle out to casual stock later into the afternoon before closing up for daily chores in the evening with their families.</p><p>Geralt walked over to slump of witcher gear. He reached down to grab his boots before noticing the door was cracked open, slightly ajar. He hadn’t remembered the sound of the door opening earlier or in the night. When pushing the door back into the door frame, he tugged on the handle and watched it swing open. It was apparently poorly fit enough to open on its own. Geralt nabbed his boots before slipping them on. He took a hold of one pair of laces, tightened them up all the way with his pant leg tucked in firmly, and moved on to the next. He went to reach for the lace per usual when he found it missing. The lace was chewed away, saliva soaked into the cured leather lace. Small fragments of the lace dangled from the strap. Geralt gritted his teeth in annoyance. Taking a small sample of the saliva, Geralt focused on it and smelled it. <em> Cat </em>. That cat from before must have snuck in during the night and chewed off the leather lace. </p><p>Geralt grimaced. Of course, now he needed a new lace for the boot, unless he took the time to make one himself. It wouldn't be the hardest to accomplish. He needed some leather and spare time. </p><p>Damn cat. </p><p>Geralt fixed his clothing and fitted his day gear over his tunic. Loosely dragging his fingers through his hair, he used a thin band to pull it into a low hanging ponytail. Afterwards, he tugged his gloves on tight. The rest of the suit up sped by. It was second nature at his point in his life. He only spent every day for more than half a century doing it, after all. </p><p>Geralt surveyed the room for a moment, noticed Jaskier beginning to stir more heavily, hinting that he was soon to rise, then closed the door behind him. </p><p>Down the stairs and into the wider tavern area, Geralt looked around. The woman from before sat on a dark wooden stool by the bar counter. She sat there carefully folding a pile of cloth towels and setting them to her side. Two other individuals were in the area. One an elderly man with a white beard far along the side, scooping away at a bowl of oatmeal and the other a tired looking man with heavy dark circles under his eyes poking around in his travel pack. Geralt observed them before heading towards the familiar woman. </p><p>“Ay, there. Early to rise, are you?” The woman smiled. She hadn’t taken the time to even look up. </p><p>“Hard habit. Don’t sleep much.”</p><p>“What a shame, all kinds of sleeping are the best parts of the day,” the woman said before winking at him. </p><p>“All kinds,” Geralt huffed with humor, “I suppose. What kinds of things do you have to offer? Any leather boot laces?”</p><p>The woman looked up then scooted forward. She leaned forward and gazed down at Geralt’s boots. “I see you met the man of the house, then. He’s a bit infamous about laces. Likes to eat them. So, yes, I have laces.”</p><p>Geralt tilted his head back and nodded, “Ah, that’s who the man of the house is. He’s the cat. I see why he’s not fond of water then.”</p><p>“Yes, sir.” She pulled out a large bundle of leather cord. With a knife in one hand, the bundle in the other, she readied a strip of it for Geralt. “Long enough?”</p><p>Geralt nodded. She cut the strip free. </p><p>“Before paying, what do you offer for refreshments this morning?”</p><p>The lady looked back at her wares, “Boiled well water, cow’s milk, goat’s milk, apple cider, and a pail of mixed berry juices.”</p><p>Geralt considered it, “That all? Unusual. No wines, spirits, or ales?”</p><p>“Not for the moment. My drinks are not good enough for you?” She teased with a smile.</p><p>Geralt weighed his options, “I suppose cider is a change of pace. What’s your name, anyway?”</p><p>The woman readied a thin copper mug full of cider and took Geralt’s money. He took the leather lace and fixed his boot. “Jadwiga.”</p><p>“I’m Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.”</p><p>“Familiar name. I believe I’ve heard of you before. Here,” she said. The mug was set in front of him. Geralt took it. “What’s on the slate today to do?”</p><p>“Check out the market. Got to get back on the road in a few days. I figured two nights here is appropriate.”</p><p>Jadwiga nodded, “Our market is quite admirable. Not many live animals, but quite the selection of produce and other goods. Clothing is also available there, for the most part. We have a tailor here in the area, in fact. Quite the luxury for a town like this.”</p><p>“A tailor? Don’t tell the bard. He’ll end up wasting money on some other flashy outfit.”</p><p>“You must keep him on a tight leash,” the woman winked.</p><p>“We are only friends. I thought I ought to clarify,” Geralt thought back to Jaskier’s comments from the night before. </p><p>“Oh,” Jadwiga drawed out the word, “only friends? Does <em> he </em>know?” She feigned shock and laughed.</p><p>“I am serious, Jadwiga.” Geralt held a neutral face. “You’ve got a bold sense of humor, you know? You don’t hold back one bit.”</p><p>“I’m a witty kitty, ay,” Jadwiga smirked.</p><p>“A sharp tongue can get you killed if you aren’t careful.”</p><p>“I’ll die jeering.”</p><p>Geralt raised his eyebrows. Jadwiga went back to folding her towels. He drank his cider and sat there at the counter.</p><p>People began to enter the tavern, filling up the dispersed tables and chairs. Time passed slowly at first, but after a moment, Geralt heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. He looked over, recognizing the glossed, dark leather boots immediately. Jaskier trotted down the steps, lute already strapped to his back for music on the go.</p><p>Geralt lifted a hand at his companion. Jaskier saw it and headed over immediately. The younger man swung himself over a stool next to Geralt and leaned forward onto the counter. Jaskier grinned wide and bright at the young woman.</p><p>“Hello, might I get something to drink?”</p><p>“Water, milks, cider, or juice?” Jadwiga repeated.</p><p>Jaskier hesitated, “Juice?”</p><p>“Ye’, are you confused or choosing?” </p><p>“Choosing,” Jaskier responded. Jadwiga poured him some. The liquid was a hearty burgundy and sweet in smell. Jaskier drank a bit, then more, quickly drinking it all. Geralt swung his head over to look at him, surprised.<br/><br/>“That was delicious. Not surprised, someone as lovely as yourself would only have the best to give,” Jaskier fawned</p><p>“Hmmph,” she torted and ignored him, “what’s your name? I already made introductions with your companion here.</p><p>Jaskier smiled, “Jaskier is what they call me. If we get to know each other, maybe I’ll let you know all the names you could call me.”</p><p>”I’ll have to think about that. What’s Jaskier mean?” Both Jadwiga and Geralt looked over to the bard. </p><p>“Actually, it means buttercup. Like the flower!” Jaskier boasted.</p><p>”Oh, so you <em> are </em> a flower,” Jadwiga grinned back.</p><p>“Wait, no-”</p><p>“Aren’t buttercups toxic or poisonous, something like that?” Jadwiga asked. Geralt nodded. “You are far from seeming dangerous. Buttercup doesn’t fit you. Perhaps, a dandelion instead.”</p><p>Jaskier perked, “Because they are resilient and bountiful?”</p><p>“Annoying and a weed,” she spoke bluntly. Geralt choked on his drink at the comment. The witcher twitched a smile. Jaskier started to blush in anxious energy. </p><p>“No, wait, I… Buttercups are weeds, too!” </p><p>Geralt placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “That didn’t help your case.”</p><p>Jaskier looked like he might cry. He rubbed a wrist over his face and took a deep breath. A patron waved over for Jadwiga. She turned from the pair and headed over to the fellow. </p><p>Jaskier looked over to his tall friend, “We should get a start on the day.” </p><p>Geralt nodded. He finished off his drink and set it on the counter with Jaskier’s empty cup before setting off with him. </p><p>“I agree. You were really digging your own grave there.” </p><p>Jaskier frowned. </p><p>They both walked outside, Geralt leading the way. The sun peaked above the trees and the breeze that ran across their skin felt soothingly warm but not hot. The day seemed promisingly comfortable. After the heavy rain from before, Geralt expected the weather to already be muggy and damp from the humidity for this season. Instead, it appeared to be a cooler, temperate day. The hard paths through the town kept civilians out of the mud. </p><p>Jaskier walked briskly behind Geralt, bouncing along. Geralt could hear Jaskier’s fancy boots clacking along the pavement. He sighed. Jaskier fluffed his collar and strutted. </p><p>“Can you go one day in public without exuding the masculinity of a peacock?” Geralt looked over his shoulder. </p><p>Jaskier fluffed his collar once more, “Nope!”</p><p>Geralt huffed. A couple of young boys ran past, play fighting with sticks for swords. A third then fourth came running from behind, attempting to ambush their friends. They carried out their fake sword fight there on the path, laughing and being merry. Jaskier looked over to the dirt and mud before hugging closer to Geralt to avoid walking in the mush. As they passed the boys, one swung out a stray too far and struck Geralt in the thigh. Jaskier halted with a gasp. Geralt watched the thin stick already fragile from being thwacked upon shatter across his leg. Of course, it stung, but nothing more than a millisecond. The boy, no more than the age of eight, looked up at the tall, fearsome man and balked.</p><p>“Don’t kill him!” One of his friends, a towheaded blond boy with darkly tanned skin shouted. Another shook his stick in the air. </p><p>“He’s too stupid to die yet!” The tallest boy declared. The others nodded. The boy at fault blushed in embarrassment and shied back. </p><p>Geralt smiled minimally, a way an outsider wouldn’t recognize as such. He looked down, unintentionally intense in his gaze towards the boy. Jaskier put a hand on Geralt’s arm.</p><p>“Geralt, now, be nice,” he whispered. </p><p>“Be more careful next time,” the witcher nodded to the boy at fault. </p><p>“We were only playing around with sticks knocked down from the storm, promise. I didn’t mean to hit you,” the young boy stammered. The boy gripped his hands together nervously flicking his eyes from the ground up to the witcher’s piercing eyes. </p><p>“The sticks and branches that fall during a storm are generally already the weakest on the tree. That’s why it broke,” Geralt informed him. The boy blinked then nodded. The air was bizarrely tense. No one moved. </p><p>Breaking the stillness, Geralt sighed. He then glanced up, looked around to scan the area, and walked away. He lifted a hand and motioned to pause in place towards Jaskier, who stood there, looking between the bewildered boys and the witcher on the move. Geralt approached a nearby tree, reached up, and yanked off a sturdy, straight branch the size the boy had. Quickly, he returned, holding out the branch for the boy. When presented, the boy flinched, wincing back in fear. He sniffled in a sharp breath with shoulders drawn up, prepared to accept a strike from the branch. The boy murmured <em> sorry </em> out loud several times, slowly being abandoned by his friends as they began to abscond from reach. Geralt only held the healthy branch outwards, shaking it gently after a moment. The young lad took it warily. </p><p>“Why?” the boy asked in a hushed, subdued voice. </p><p>Geralt shrugged. The boy gripped onto the branch tighter, blinking rapidly in confusion. Geralt waved him away before he returned to walking. The kids were phased at first but then took back up to playing. Jaskier slouched slightly, befuddled, before trotting back along. </p><p>“You were nice. Thought you might yell at the boy. Slap him even.”</p><p>“Why? Harmless fun. Gotta learn from mistakes while there aren’t as severe consequences.” Geralt swept his hands across each other, brushing crumbs of moist bark away. “I can be nice. You just annoy me too much to be nice.”</p><p>“Rude!” Jaskier snubbed his nose at him. Geralt just shook his head. The boys had reminded him of watching Ciri play the few times he saw her that age. A part of him wished he could have had a carefree, rambunctious phase of freedom at that age. Alas, that was in the past. </p><p>They walked towards the market. Geralt pawed at his coin sachet, gauging the amount of money he was willing to spend on supplies. Having recently finished a difficult contract on the road and selling off some abandoned gear he found in the monster’s nest, he could justify a tad bit of shopping. Traveling food was a must. </p><p>About twenty tents and booths were scattered around the area. The first six contained primarily fresh produce, mostly broccoli, beets, radishes, and the like. He considered it before moving on. One lady had a bushel of apples on display, varying colors of reds and golden-yellow. Geralt stopped there and purchased a firm golden-yellow apple for his horse. She deserved something for putting up with her rider, after all. </p><p>Meanwhile, Jaskier happily set up shop around a stump by the outskirts of the area. A guard, not well armored and mostly clad in leather gear and carrying a short baton on his waist, squinted at the bard before deeming it acceptable. Geralt pocketed the apple as he heard the sound of the boys from before skittering nearby. In his peripheral vision, Geralt watched the boy he gifted the branch to walk up to the market guard and hold his fake sword up in pride. The guard nodded down at the boy. </p><p>“‘is good! Where ya’ find that a’ one?” the guard asked. </p><p>“That fellow got it down for me ‘cause I broke mine I found, Pa,” the boy pointed at Geralt by the stands. </p><p>“Ya’ say thank ya’ for it?” His father, the guard, asked. The boy shook his head before bolting away before being told to. The guard just shook his head and folded his arms. </p><p>Jaskier strummed a few warm up chords before beginning to sing. He sang of a storm that blew down a tree before turning into mulch for the wildlife… or something. Geralt stopped paying attention. A few of the merchants there plopped a few low value coins at his feet. One laid a potato down by the coins. </p><p>Geralt was used to it. Instead of watching, he moved on towards a booth with various leather gear. He picked up the belt at the front and turned it over in his hands. The one on his waist where he carried his pouch and vials was thinning on the upper hip. At this point, Geralt supposed it had been around five years old and lasted a decent amount of fights. A strong, new belt would never hurt. The owner of the booth was hunched over, dragging his gaze across the sword handles looming over Geralt’s shoulder. The older man was in awe at the workmanship. </p><p>Geralt lifted the belt up to get his attention, “How much?”</p><p>“Ah, that, well… you’re a witcher, aren’t you? Underappreciated lot, I say. I remember one saving this very town from a vicious thing when I was young. Was like an old floating corpse spirit in a gown. Angriest bitch of a lady. Caught stuff on fire. That was, shucks, sixty… seventy years ago. You know what, half price,” the man slapped his hand on the table. </p><p>Geralt clutched the belt tighter, “Your settlement here is… odd. Half price is?”</p><p>The man peered at the belt before beginning to answer. Before he got anywhere, a woman on the cobblestone path screamed. Jaskier thrust himself up to standing, sweeping up his rewards, before running to get a better view. Geralt dropped the belt on the table, whipping towards the scream. </p><p>“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted.</p><p>The witcher then heard it from afar. The sound of heavily feathered wings came to him. It was delicate and soft, like a snowy owl. No wonder the thing had managed to get so close before anyone noticed it. A griffin? Geralt looked up at it, faltering at its appearance. The beast’s wings were wide and white, like the entirety of its body; however, that was where the similarity ended with a griffin. The beast’s neck swooped low and coiled up briefly like a serpent, but it’s head was that of a powerfully-jawed feline, features akin to a lion and jaguar. The paws were folded in along it’s belly, all three sets of them. The tail began thick like a leopard before splitting into two thin reptilian whips. </p><p>“G-Geralt, what is that!” Jaskier’s heart was fluttering. He shook at the sight. The beast was nearing swiftly. </p><p>“I don’t know, but I’ll stop it,” Geralt assured the troubadour. </p><p>Jaskier’s jaw dropped before he staggered back, “You don’t know? Oh, sweet life, <em> you don’t know </em>. Not good! I-I’ll get everyone to safety!” </p><p>Geralt began to run, drawing his silver sword. The beast dangled its head in his direction before plummeting quickly. The witcher held up his hand steadily and drew the sign of igni in order to blast at the creature’s eyes. In reality, Geralt typically wouldn’t use signs in combat, but he had to start somewhere, especially out of reach. </p><p>The feline beast screeched, swiveling its head and letting out a roar. It lifted back into the sky and headed towards the tree line. Geralt knew he had succeeded in damaging at least one eye because the beast drove its own wing into a tall, ancient tree. It roared in horror before landing. The beast folded up its wings before racing forward on all legs. The long black claws scooped up dirt as it raced towards him. Several people ran by, animals fleeing around it, but the creature had no interest. It stared, maw agape, at the witcher. The bright yellow feline eyes slitted as it lurched. Geralt took a running start before swinging at the head, slashing, and carrying on, but the creature moved with the grace of water, coiling every which way to avoid each strike. Geralt grimaced. The creature snapped close to his face, allowing him a chance to strike. </p><p>A chunk flew from its long serpentine neck, but it did not falter. The blood swelled and gushed across the ground. </p><p>“The <em> fuck </em> are you!”Geralt howled back at the monster. The beast turned its head upside down and let out a human-like laugh. It lunged once more. </p><p><em> A nightmare </em>. Geralt heard an unfamiliar voice speak yet nothing had spoken. The monster saw a moment of weakness and stood on the back four legs before reaching out and swiping with readied paws, sending Geralt skimming the ground. He coughed, feeling bursts of pain in the ribs where a rock stopped him, but couldn’t stay down. </p><p>From afar, the townspeople watched in fear from inside buildings. Jaskier had a hand on the door within, ready to run out once the beast was down. </p><p>Geralt watched the animal’s wings beat, ready to attempt a take off, so a quick slash as it lifted above him severed a vital tendon in a wing. It crashed down once more. Rage began to build in Geralt, partially fueled by his complete lack of knowledge of this creature. It was not something he had ever seen. It had the features of a griffin, serporpard, and wampus cat all in one… Nothing like it existed. It was almost as if someone crafted this unholy beast for fun… or <em> revenge </em>. </p><p>A memory clicked, but there was no time to dawdle. Memories of Sorel Degerlund’s banned experimentations rose up. Sorel had been a student under the great Ortolan, someone regarded as a serious figure to witchers. Furthermore, he recalled the chimera mutation experiments of Alzur and Cosimo, the ones who started it all. Chimeras, though, were typically closer to a wyvern, griffin, or fiend. This thing was unusual. It had to have been new, not born. Had Sorel, in death, attracted an admirer to his work and sent this chimera after Geralt? Truth be told, he wouldn’t doubt it. That would explain why the beast was so intent on him only. </p><p>Now convinced it was an unnatural, sorcerer-crafted beast, Geralt took to it with fury. First to go was the paw that was raised to strike him. Second was the lower jaw as it turned to chomp. Third, Geralt sliced off the forked tail as he watched the beast swirl, trying to ship him off his feet with the thick, muscled appendage. </p><p>The creature roared, laughed, and cried all at once. In a fit of madness, the beast rolled away and began to squirm into the trees. Geralt blocked it off, tired and bloody from the creature’s claws, before finally slicing through the feline’s slender neck. </p><p>The head thumped aside as the body spasmed and died. The feline’s eyes were closed. Geralt stepped back, panting. </p><p><em> As expected. </em>He heard once more the voice echo. He looked around, gripping the sword in both hands. The creature’s eyes suddenly flashed open and emitted a blinding blue-white light. The flash engulfed the entire body, like a star going supernova, and blasted Geralt back as it exploded into a shockwave of magic. </p><p>He crunched into the tree, striking his head back, and seeing all go from the blinding white to darkness. The abyss was fleeting. Several images zipped by, far too fast to process. Before he could even ponder up a thought Geralt was back on the ground. </p><p>He stood up, clutching his head in pain. The tree he landed on was splattered with blood, both his and the feline beast’s. With a hand on the tree trunk, he brushed back his hair and took a deep breath. His vision was blurred and unsteady. </p><p>Jaskier’s voice grew closer and closer. The singing poet was hysterical, “Geralt? Geralt, are you okay?”</p><p>“I will be. Pain always comes with the job...” Geralt squinted, watching Jaskier drop to his knees in front of him, seeming to stare through him. Jaskier’s breath came in gulps. He ran as fast as he could. </p><p>“Geralt! Answer me!” </p><p>“I just said-“ Geralt snapped, opening his eyes fully as the world ceased to spin. </p><p>Jaskier sat there, trembling in fear. He placed a delicate hand on Geralt’s arm and shook it. Jaskier choked on his breath. Vitals came next. Heart? Beating. <em> Good! Good! </em>The bard chanted to himself as he frenzied to look over his friend’s injuries.</p><p>This, of course, Geralt watched from above where he stood propped against the tree. There on the ground, bloodied and still, limply slumped against the tree as fresh blood trickled from his nose and traced the curve of his mouth, was Geralt’s <em> own </em> living body. </p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>(medallion screwy, don't look)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please leave a comment if so inclined! I’m particularly self conscious about writing for this fandom. I really hope I’m doing well! Thanks for reading. </p><p>Guesses for what’s to come are also appreciated.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier showed not one hint of recognition to Geralt’s voice as he shouted. Instead, he remained focused on his friend’s injured body there on the ground. Jaskier swallowed tentatively and checked over the wounds the best he could at the angle of Geralt’s slump. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got to move you…” Jaskier said, prodding Geralt’s neck to make sure there were no broken bones that could be exacerbated by movement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, just stay there!” Geralt commanded as he stepped forward. Once more, no recognition. He felt an ominous chill. Jaskier really couldn’t see or hear him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt felt bizarre looking down at himself. This wasn’t a normal occurrence by any mean. He needed to reconnect with his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt crouched down beside where Jaskier was tugging on his arm and shoulder, attempting to haul him up before coughing out a strained breath and leaving him on the ground. The witcher paused, hovering beside his own face, before reaching out to try and touch the body. His attempt to grasp at a limp arm failed as it touched the surface of skin before it swiped through the air like nothing. Geralt tensed and tried again. He could only momentarily maintain a connection. He then glanced over to the bard, now standing up and gazing around for help. Although feeling off put about randomly trying to touch someone, Geralt reached out and wrapped his hand around Jaskier’s closest wrist. The connection was even shorter than to his own body. The hand clenched through the wrist like a breeze and the man gave no sign of notice to the touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt kneeled back towards his body. He saw the slight, but present breath rise and fall in his chest. At that moment, he placed a hand on his own ghostly form’s chest. There was no breath. There was no beat. With a shudder of alarm, Geralt crawled out towards his own body, trying to align back up with it. He laid against the tree the best he could, feeling the pressure of the wood starting to give away to air once again like everything else. Hands with hands, feet with feet, Geralt closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of his body and the sensation of being alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a strange process of trying to remember how to be alive. By all means, he felt alive until he focused on the void aspects. He only felt choked for a moment when remembering he wasn’t breathing in his current state. That feeling rapidly passed without effort. It was almost the opposite of when someone suddenly remembered they breathed, at which point they suddenly switched to a sense of manual breathing. Except, he couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t air. Why wouldn’t there be air? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt lifted a hand before sinking back down against the tree. The buzz and vibration of contact was engulfing, but it ultimately held no power. It was almost as if he was swimming if one could. Something akin to the electrostatic that filled the space where lightning was soon to strike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Geralt finally sneered and sat up. The lingering sensation of breathing from the body pulled away, leaving him momentarily disoriented. It was, by all means, nothing he’d experienced before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At his feet, now standing up and motioning, Jaskier was pointing down to Geralt’s body. Geralt watched the guard from earlier at the market making haste over. The guard had been the boy’s father, the one from before who Geralt took a moment out of his day to show kindness to. He hadn’t intended for the act to pay off, but now it had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please help me,” Jaskier asked politely to the guard, who hunched slightly to peer down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is… ‘e looks dead,” the guard cautiously stated, hoping it wasn’t an upsetting statement. Some people could be rather volatile when in denial. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, he’s not. I need to carry him back to his room at the tavern. I can’t just leave him out here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guard looked dubious. He frowned with arched eyebrows, flicking his focus between the bard and the body. His eyes hovered over the splattered crimson and maroon-browns, “Ya’ sure?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Jaskier said with confidence, “I found a pulse and everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guard hesitated, drawing his eyes continuously over the remains of the slaughter. He paused before responding, “Maybe ‘e shouldn’t move yet. Come to and then we help ‘im in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier opened his mouth, seeming to consider it. Geralt watched the two converse, all while persisting to try and get either to notice him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying my best here to wake up!” Geralt growled. ‘Wake up’ hadn’t felt right to say, but what else would there be? ‘Repossess my body’ didn’t sit well, either</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I’m trying to…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shook his head, “I’ve known him to be out for days before recovering. Brutal occupation but he heals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guard nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait-“ Geralt sighed. They were not going to notice nor were they going to stop. In the end, he supposed it didn’t matter where he was, he just didn’t hold high hopes they wouldn’t worsen any damage by jostling him about. Primarily the bard, he mused. Jaskier wasn’t the weakest, about average. He had decent muscular endurance from playing an instrument, but nowhere close to the strength needed to carry Geralt that far away then up stairs to a room. Even worse, Jaskier would probably hurt himself doing it. Worse, of course, when he’d have to put up with the pitiful complaints regarding the injury. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt stepped back, from habit, less from necessity considering his presence wouldn’t be in the way if they passed through him, and let them both assess his body’s position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guard instructed Jaskier to stay there while he got someone to assist them by collecting the miscellaneous gear from the area so they could focus on the task at hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>As if I’d be going anywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Geralt thought, staring at the immobile body, imagining if it spontaneously moved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That might be impressive,” Geralt commented, “but concerning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After returning, the guard took the shoulders while Jaskier carried his legs. They both, as best as they could from the weight, lifted him gently and began to amble towards the tavern. Jaskier’s arms and pristine pale-blue sleeves were becoming dirtied from the blood, slowly griming up to an unappetizing purplish muddiness. Geralt, standing there steadily afar, felt a mixture of surprise and guilt at the idea. He shrugged it away swiftly. Jaskier could afford it to be cleaned. Furthermore, Jaskier could simply afford to replace it altogether. Either way, he was sure to hear it about how Jaskier’s favorite garment (not </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly </span>
  </em>
  <span>his favorite, more just to be extravagant and melodramatic) got ruined having to help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, perhaps, as bad as it weighed as a thought, Jaskier knew this situation wasn’t normal and was in fact rather dire. There was no way he knew Geralt had become disconnected from his body, but he was unsightly. To the guard’s credit, given Geralt’s posture and appearance against that tree, he really had looked dead. With vitals already running more suppressed than average, no one would’ve known better without checking. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> dead, thankfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A coldness began to seep through his form the farther they got away. A younger guard, he assumed, as the man was in casual street clothes but had been brought by the other, began skimming the area and collecting gear into his arms. Geralt looked back to the main guard and Jaskier. The transporting pair already across the main strip. Besides a sense of emotional shock, there wasn’t a reason for Geralt to remain outside at the time being. More concerningly, the more distance between him and his body, the worse the cold, voidness became. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jogged lightly, rapidly catching up, feeling the oppressive numb lift away. Geralt swallowed, by habit, choking on nothing by attempting to force his form to behave alive, before wincing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why can I talk but not breathe?” Geralt angrily looked at the sky, as if someone watching would answer. No one was going to. He gazed once more over himself in thought, “Am I speaking? Or do I think I am?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He focused on a memory of talking, running mental diagnostics over the sensation in the throat and chest. It felt familiar, only more in a vacuum, when no air seemed to disperse with sound. Had he been where everyone else was, in terms of reality, there should be air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, as everyone involved made way through the doorway, Geralt came to his own conclusion. He wasn’t on the same plane of existence, somehow. Portals worked that way, cutting through the universe, in a sense. It felt nearly incomplete. Thinking more, it was similar to the momentary discomfort he hated from portalling, but something was not quite right with that theory. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Close enough for now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This was something Yennefer or Ciri might be helpful in solving. He hoped, somehow, one of them would. Considering Yennefer was to arrive soon, she would figure something out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, the crowd hovered, swarming in and out, looking at the guard, Jaskier, and Geralt’s body. They had observed, to the best of their own ability, through the door and windows as Geralt took on the chimera. For most of them, they were grateful nothing worse happened. Jadwiga stepped along the pathway, stammering briefly when looking over at Geralt’s state. Had it been any other day, she would have sniveled with disgust at the mess. She almost wanted to openly fret with her hands in the air and point at the blood, mud, and indistinguishable mess that made way to the floor or stairwell, but she stepped back from it. This wasn’t a typical day at all. Her barmaid, when she worked later in the evening to help clean, would have to deal with it. Some patrons even looked from the trio as they struggled to maneuver gracefully (without it, whatsoever, heaving him sideways) up the stairs to the rooms towards her, waiting for her to bark about cleanliness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jadwiga was silent, feeling ill and faint. Geralt, ethereal, stepped between people, angling around the tables, to walk over to her. After a moment, feeling his arms or outstretched leg pass through an object or person more times than he wanted, he finally tensed up and walked straight ahead, passing through the people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before her, he waved, looking across her face for recognition. No one in the crowd obviously noticed. He called out a few times. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hello</span>
  </em>
  <span>! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Things such as that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jadwiga?” Geralt asked, “Can you at least hear me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned away from him, dazed, but otherwise it was obviously not in his favor. She remained upset, but sensed him none whatsoever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gritted his teeth, shakily tense with frustration. The numb voidness began to crawl over him, starting with his hands and feet like a frostbite. He cursed internally, eyeing up the stairs, before hastily running up to stay with them. It almost felt like a dream running with such force yet feeling no resistance from the world and no sound from his clambering. Had he been in possession of a body, he might’ve stomped a floorboard loose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside the second floor’s room two, Jaskier and the guard carried Geralt over to the singular bed and set him down. When placed, the body made a small, audible noise similar to a groan. Geralt blinked, uneasily wondering if there was a fragment of himself semi-conscious left in the living reality, but logic suggested it was involuntary reflexes. Unconscious bodies, such as those comatose, still swallowed and breathed. Some even flinched. Others in profoundly vegetive states, when conscious, involuntarily have facial expressions. A body, clearly without a conscious component, might react in some way if in pain… or maybe just air compression in the lungs and vocal chords. Jaskier glanced at his friend, hopefully waiting for a further response, before addressing the guard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spoke. The other man came through and set Geralt’s misplaced belongings down by the door before dipping out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Err, how much?” The guard passively looked at the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier stumbled a bit, mouth agape for a second. Geralt let his head fall back and closed his eyes. He had certainly not further intended to inconvenience anyone, let alone force Jaskier to pay someone to tote his body around. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn today,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Geralt thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I need to remember to pay him back once I get enough.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know? I guess, well, what do you think?” Jaskier pawed at his hip before looking over to his travel wares. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This town, us guards are all voluntary forces, y’know, so we don’ have a lot. Not a paid gig, jus’ part time,” the guard responded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want… a lot?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guard raised his eyebrows again, blinking, before looking from the ground back to Jaskier, “No, sir, I uhh meant, for ya’ and ‘im, for the savin’ and all that. I’m not askin’ for any. I’m asking how much ya’ want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt cupped his hands over his face. Of course. An impromptu attack happens in a place he was admired and not outcast, of all places, and it turns into a contact </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> he already did the work when at no obligation whatsoever to pay. On top of that, what would otherwise be a lucky happenstance, Jaskier gets to decide the price. Geralt wasn’t sure if he would even consider accepting a commission on this circumstance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about…” Jaskier thought, feeling put on the spot, “do you think you could get our room for free until we have to leave? Does that seem fair?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt removed his hands from his face. He flicked his head to the side, thinking. That idea, admittedly, seemed to be appropriate, honestly. He had to give Jaskier the credit. A free room was saving money. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guard smiled, took Jaskier’s hand, and shook it for him before leaving. Jaskier blinked, seeming confused, before turning back to the bed. Taking a long breath to fuel a dramatic sigh, Jaskier removed his intricately sewn shirt and tossed it aside apathetically. Up close, Geralt could see there was no redemption for the blood stains now deep into the pale absorbent silks and cottons. The bed dressings would also be ruined. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that idea, Geralt looked down on himself, searching for active sources of blood flow. The bridge of his nose was bruised, likely either broken in the blast or close to it, explaining the blood pooled within his nostrils. A bust lip bled lightly after mostly coagulating. There were cuts on his face, some on his hands, but his outer armor appeared to prevent most lacerations. In a comforting reassurance, most of that blood wasn’t his own, assuming there wasn’t internal damage. Undoubtedly, there was something injured from that blast into the solid resistance of that tree, but nothing unfamiliar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier checked Geralt over again, ensuring he continued to breathe without problems, before busying himself through the door, mumbling about cleaning up first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt, alone with himself metaphorically and physically, tried to sit on the side of the bed, only to feel the static stiffness of his body against his form. It made him shiver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard Jaskier return, holding a damp rag in hand and a few extra in the crook of the other arm. At his feet, the black cat trotted along, sniffing the air at the scent of blood and other intriguing smells. Jaskier cooed at the cat before telling him to stay out from under his feet, before going to the bed and carefully wiping the blood from Geralt’s face. From the side, Geralt watched from over Jaskier’s shoulder, interested primarily in himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Geralt felt the cat’s tail pass through his ankle before looking down at the cat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want something?” Geralt said passively, already apathetically used to being invisible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cat lifted its head, staring straight into Geralt’s eyes, and hissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier jolted with surprise and looked down at the cat, “Did I step on you? I’m sorry, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stay out from under me!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt blinked, backing up. The cat continued to watch him stand there before jumping up on the bed. Had his heart been beating in his current state, it may have actually reacted. The black cat squinted at Geralt’s form before looking at his body on the bed. The cat, eyes slitted, had the fur along its back slowly arch before bolting out of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looked dumbfounded at the cat’s behavior, but settled on the mysterious nature of cats being unexplainable, before going back to his task. Geralt, meanwhile, stared at the doorway where the cat fled. It had </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. Not just his body, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when not a single human could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait!” Geralt called out to the cat, running towards the door. He pursued the feline out into the hallway, looking both ways for a sign of it. “Come here, kitty. Hey!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt started to walk further down the hall before feeling the pull back towards his body. He couldn’t go looking for the cat, as much as it pained him. However, he knew, this was a breakthrough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Over twelve hours passed. As the night began to settle in, Jaskier grew warily tired. Geralt paced the room, trying to veer out at times, testing the limitations of being away from his body, but ultimately returned to be trapped in the room. Jaskier left only a few times, once to go eat. Geralt’s body rested peacefully for the most part. There was no more blood beyond the places it dried to clot up a wound. His cheekbones were reddish and the bruise along his nose stood out. The magic force had struck him rather harshly in the face. It had been enough to injure. As for other proddings when Jaskier removed the outer armor from his arms and shoulders, nothing appeared broken. There were bruises, but nothing broken. A rib may have been, but he couldn’t tell. There weren’t any splints for that anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier tidied Geralt’s body up, washing away grime from the face and hands. He left Geralt in the beige, once white tunic and trousers he had been wearing under his armor. Everything else, like boots, was added to the pile along the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Many times, Geralt tried communicating, but failed. He even stepped through Jaskier at times, hoping he would sense something but wouldn’t. Laying down lining up with his own body never worked and the aftermath usually made him feel bizarre. Despite being borderline apparition, Geralt felt tired as night crawled along. He resigned to sitting on the ground to take a break from the restless pacing. Geralt knew he wasn’t a ghost or anything of the sort, but almost couldn’t consider a better term for his state than that of a spirit. Although, he wondered if this was like being a type of spectre. Had he not been so close and aware of his body, he might’ve considered he was one. Like one, he was tethered, but to his </span>
  <em>
    <span>living</span>
  </em>
  <span> body unlike spectres. They, being dead, had bones or a treasure. Geralt could return to the living, waking world at any moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you hear me?” Jaskier suddenly spoke up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt, looking up from where he now sat cross-legged on the ground, directed his full attention now to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” Geralt replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sighed, “I don’t know if you can, but I hope you can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can,” Geralt repeated gruffly, sinking his eyebrows down. He felt ridiculous he actually thought for a moment he had been finally noticed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier continued, “I hope you wake up soon. I don’t know how to handle it otherwise. I could send for a herbalist, maybe, or a mage. A healer. I’m not really sure on how to track any down. I can ask tomorrow. That was more a skill of yours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yennefer is supposed to be here soon. Two days? I think that was it. Two days. And we all three were going to see Ciri for her celebration. You know, I don’t remember being told what it was celebrating. I was too embarrassed to admit I didn’t know. I could send for her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt shook his head, “No, she’s busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I shouldn’t. Besides, Yennefer will be here. You’ll wake up by then anyway. At that point she can help with any lingering problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt nodded, considering it. Yennefer was close to arriving. In fact, Geralt thought enthusiastically, with her strong magic, she surely would notice him the way he was. If this was similar to the magic surrounding portalling, like he thought, Yennefer could fix it with ease. In hindsight, portalling with her directly to Ciri would’ve prevented all of this. Geralt laughed to himself. Yennefer was right this time, but he knew he wouldn’t tell her that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m going to sleep,” Jaskier admitted quietly, “so, don’t die in the night, please?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt pondered that. Could he die at any time? He felt tired, but was that secretly the feeling of looming death? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not the plan to die, yet,” Geralt said. Talking aloud broke the monotony for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier put together himself a bed on the floor beside the bed, unintentionally casting the blanket directly over Geralt’s spirit and dizzying him. Geralt shook his head clear and stood up, leaving Jaskier to the space alone. Beside the bed, Geralt did what he lost count of already: observing himself. Since he felt tired and nighttime was fit for sleeping, he wondered if he could sleep too. He looked to the ground, seeing Jaskier settle in fast, clearly drained, then to the bed. Once more, Geralt climbed onto the bed, each time now hoping he wouldn’t spontaneously phase through the object for some reason, and aligned himself. He remembered the feeling of breathing and the warmth of pulsing blood like a faint echo through the static of his body occupying the same space. He tried to relax, hoping letting go of stress and tension may help him. The sooner this out-of-body experience was over, the better. Geralt hadn’t noticed when he began to drift off, nor had he genuinely expected it, but within a few moments, even disconnected, he fell into the equivalent of sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry, had to get back into the swing of writing.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Inspired partially by both The Invisible (2007) and the newest Warrior Cats. My first Witcher story!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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